Heaven and Earth - Malec AU
by shyberius
Summary: Magnus is reciting Hamlet at 1am, and Alec is really not in the mood.
1. Chapter 1 (01-21 09:35:59)

Alec Lightwood had a hole in his wall. So did Magnus Bane. Neither one knew it yet, but Alec was about to find out.

He stumbled into his flat, the argument still ringing in his ears. Still jostling for space in his already full mind.

It had been his mother again, telling him that he needed a proper job, and a proper girlfriend, and a proper life. Alec disagreed, as always. Right now, all he needed was some peace and quiet.

Alec sank into his second-hand bed, staring blankly up at the ceiling, where fingers of damp were beginning to stretch. Finally, sleep. Finally, peace.

"And therefore, as a stranger, give it welcome. There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy."

Alec jumped awake, groaning into his pillow - what time was it? Who's voice was that? It came again, muffled but close.

"But come, here as before, never, so help you mercy..."

Alec felt the voice manifest itself around him like smoke. It was vapour, curling under the floorboards, everywhere, with a lilting, musical quality.

Perhaps, were Alec feeling a little more tolerant, he'd have enjoyed the voice. Maybe he would have followed the words, and recognised that it was _Hamlet_. But Alec was exhausted, and he felt too full to take anything else in.

So, naturally, he was annoyed. He propped his tired body up onto one elbow and squinted at his alarm clock. One in the morning. _Just great._

"How strange or odd soever I bear myself..."

Maybe Alec did need a proper job - not to please Maryse, but so that he could move into a flat with better soundproofing. Or just a flat away from the mystery Hamlet-reciter. He got up from the bed clumsily, knocking over a pile of books on his way across the room. He pressed his ear against the wall, feeling it cold against his skin.

It was coming from that side. Now the voice had stopped, but he could still hear the shuffling of paper, as if the speaker were turning onto the next page.

"There are...more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are _dreamt_ of-"

The speaker broke off. There was another shuffle of pages. Alec knew what he was doing - he was experimenting with the words, seeing which tone sounded right. An actor, he presumed. An insomniac actor with an affinity for Shakespeare's tragedies.

The light in Alec's flat was limited, so he felt his way along the wall, trying to find the exact source of the voice. His fingers traced the outline of a poster - he couldn't see it, but he knew that it was a poster of his favourite band, _The Mortal Instruments_. No one he knew had ever listened to them, and to Alec, that was one of the great injustices of this world.

For some reason, here was where the voice rang the loudest. Alec carefully untacked the poster from the wall, leaning in closer. It took him a few surreal moments to work out that the wall wasn't moving, but rather that something was moving behind it.

 _How long had there been a hole in the wall?_

Crouching down on one knee, Alec peered into the hole, which was about the size of his fist. Through it, the mystery Hamlet-reciter continued his twilight soliloquy, oblivious to being watched.

The reciter's back was facing him, and he looked dressed up to go out: tight-fitting trousers, gelled hair, and a dress jacket which subtly changed colour depending on how the light hit it. He was pacing his room restlessly, swinging his hips to and fro.

Alec was going to tell him to shut up, but he was already unconscious, slumped against the wall. The same voice that had woken him up, had put him back to sleep again. No one could blame him - the mystery Hamlet-reciter had a way with words, spinning them out in the air, smoothing them out like velvet.

Said Hamlet-reciter stopped. Put his script down on his desk. Turned to his own wall, his eyes settling on the painting that hung there. Had he heard a sound come from that direction - a shuffling, perhaps, or snoring?

He pointed at the painting wearily. "Don't be haunted. I've only just moved in."


	2. Chapter 2

"Good. It's going pretty well, I guess." Alec paced his kitchen, which was quite difficult considering the minimal floor space. He kept knocking aside plates and pans with his elbows.

"Really? How many words is it so far?" Isabelle sounded doubtful on the other end of the phone. Or perhaps it was just the fuzzy connection.

"Two thousand, give or take a couple hundred." This had been their topic of conversation for the last week, non-stop. Alec's research paper for his PhD: the paper which he both loathed and treasured at the same time. It was driving him crazy, but it was all he'd ever wanted to do.

Suddenly he wanted to change the subject. "How's the job, Izzy? Any new cases?"

She laughed. "When isn't there a case, huh?"

Izzy worked as a barrister in Manhattan. She was, as Maryse liked to scathingly remind Alec, doing something worthwhile with the opportunities she'd been given. Unlike him, it seemed. Izzy was the only one who actually cared about Alec's medieval literature PhD, and thought he'd make something of it. Although, Alec noticed, she never stayed at his flat when she visited, because she couldn't stand the damp.

A comfortable silence settled, and Alec began absent-mindedly sorting through the fridge with his spare hand. Izzy spoke up again. "Come visit. We can keep it a secret from Mom and Dad."

Alec sighed. "Mom seems to have ears everywhere. Speaking of, she called me yesterday."

"That's a first."

"Yeah." He took out some Pot Noodle, and clumsily ripped off the lid. "I hope it was the last."

"Ugh. Are you eating Pot Noodle again?"

"How did you know?" Alec fumbled for a fork in the sink, savouring the taste. Sometimes he became so engrossed in his medieval literature that he'd forget to eat, and he'd suddenly realise that he was _so hungry_.

"It's the sound of the lid. I've heard it too many times. Seriously." Her grin was practically audible over the phone.

"Mmmh. Don't care. It's delicious." Alec shovelled in another mouthful.

Izzy's reply was drowned out by a sudden blast of music from the neighbouring flat. Alec cursed the mystery Hamlet-reciter under his breath. "Izzy? Izzy, I gotta hang up. I can't hear you."

He hung up, shoving the phone into his pocket angrily. Why couldn't his conversion with Maryse have been interrupted? His sister was the only person he actually enjoyed talking to.

The music turned up a notch: a raucous bass line, thumping beat, and ungodly synth to top it all off. This was swiftly followed by merry voices, clinking glasses and stamping feet. It sounded as if the party was just beginning.

 _Wonderful_. To add to the list of things Alec knew about his neighbour, it turned out he was a party-thrower with a terrible taste in music. He ran a hand over his The Mortal Instruments poster, and the hole in the wall behind it.

"SHUT UP!" He hollered, knowing that the mystery party-thrower Hamlet-reciter wouldn't hear him.

 _A/N: I know this is a bit of a short, boring chapter, but it's only to get into the next. It'll get more exciting, I promise!_


	3. Chapter 3

Alec Lightwood had a hole in his wall, which he now knew fully well. Magnus Bane, on the other hand, was unaware that they shared this hole in the wall.

This would do well to explain why, when he woke up the morning after the party with an evil hangover, he went through a train of thought with involved seriously considering exorcising his painting. Magnus could have sworn that, at some point in the haze that was last night, he'd heard a muffled voice coming from The Painting's general direction. 'Shut up', or something along those lines.

He staggered over to the kitchen counter, which was strewn with empty bottles and half-full wine glasses. The Chairman was reclining on top of the microwave as if nothing had happened. Were all cats this ungrateful? Magnus would have been besotted if only someone only had thrown a party for _him_.

Squinting at The Painting suspiciously, he grabbed an empty glass, pouring water into it from a jug. At least, it looked like water - if it was vodka, Magnus would find out soon enough.

It was, all in all, a very average-looking painting. He recalled buying it off the market for the price of a cigarette - it was one of those faux-abstract pictures, all colours and shapes that were supposed to have a hidden meaning.

Screw hidden meanings. Magnus was tired, and hungover, and...

 _Late._ Today was Monday.

Magnus flew across the counter, leaving spilled, cheap wine in his wake, and made for his wardrobe. Never before had he got dressed without seriously considering whether that shirt went with that tie, but time was precious, and it was running out faster than that wine was dripping onto the kitchen floor.

As he sped to the door, clad in a combination of yellow leather trousers and a sequinned, v-neck sweater (more fetching than one might imagine), his sleeve snagged the frame of The Painting. It fell clean off it's hook, revealing the hole in the wall like the gaping mouth of a cave.

Magnus stopped in his tracks. Was he seeing spots? No - surely the alcohol had worn off by now. Had it been there when he'd moved in, and placed that godforsaken painting on the wall?

He took a step back as his eye detected a movement on the other side. Through the wall there was dark, dark, then...blue. Magnus corrected himself - there was a pair of eyes, blue eyes, staring at him from the neighbouring flat.

Beautiful eyes. A pity they had to be attached to such an angry face. "You're my new neighbour." Said the man on the other side, frowning. He frowned twice: once at the mere fact that Magnus was here, and the second time at his choice of clothing.

"I am." Clarified Magnus. "You're the voice behind the talking painting." He sounded quite pleased to have worked out the source of this mystery.

"You're...you're Hamlet?" His neighbour frowned even deeper, but now his anger was softened by innocent confusion. There were two small creases between his eyes. "'There are more things in Heaven and Earth...?.'"

"'Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.'" Finished Magnus cheerfully. "Did you like my reading?"

There was no answer - Magnus's blue-eyed neighbour had put up a poster on his side of the wall, so that they could no longer see each other. He heard heavy footsteps clomping away.

Which was kind of rude. But he'd talk to him again later - after all, there _was_ a hole in their wall.

So it was inevitable, really.


	4. Chapter 4

It was like a dance.

Magnus was determined to talk to Alec, who he had found endearing on sight, despite seeming grumpy. After all, if they were going to be close neighbours, they would get to know each other whether they liked it or not.

Alec, on the other hand, was equally determined to avoid Magnus at all costs. As if he needed another distraction from his research paper (which was so close to three thousand words). He reckoned Magnus had got the hint about not making so much noise, because the parties had been minimal. Which was the way Alec liked it.

They kept skirting round each other. Magnus could hear Alec's alarm through the hole in the wall, and had memorised exactly when he left the house in the morning. He would wait behind his door until he heard the sound of Alec's boots, and then step out into the landing at precisely the right time.

But Alec would always find a way to avoid him. He would make up a phone call, or walk ahead, or just plain ignore him. And it was becoming an intricate dance, a game, to see who would cave first.

For a while, life carried on nonchalantly. Alec wrote, sporadically attended lectures, and complained to Izzy on the phone. Magnus used his job as a necessity to fund his acting, auditioning and socialising with way more people than he could ever remember.

Life didn't care, and neither did they.

Until Alec lost the game.

It was one of those mornings that didn't quite feel like morning, because it's was so dark outside. It was as if nature were having a lie-in, because the sky was inky purple and the birds weren't singing yet. Magnus had been awake for longer - in fact, he planned on being early today.

He stepped quietly onto the landing, leaning his tall frame against his closed door. The space smelled faintly of cigarette ash and dead leaves. Four, three, two, one, and his elusive neighbour strode out. His eyes widened in surprise when he saw Magnus.

"Hey." Magnus fell into step beside him, and they were walking down the stairs together before Alec could do anything about it. Triumph flickered across Magnus's face.

"Hello." Said Alec resignedly.

Magnus's eyes glittered. "You never told me your name."

"You never told me yours." Alec quipped back, adjusting his tattered bag on his shoulder.

"Magnus."

"Alec."

They stepped outside, Magnus pushing the door, propping it open with his foot for Alec to go through. "Just Alec?"

"It's short for Alexander, but no one calls me that." He wore an expression that told Magnus he shouldn't either.

"Now I do."

 _Alexander_ scowled. After a lengthy silence, Magnus spoke again: "I'm throwing a party at mine tonight. Will you come?" It was a question, and the uncertainty in his eyes made Alec feel calmer somewhat. Here was this stylish, confident man, but he wasn't sure whether Alec would say yes.

"Why should I?"

A leaf drifted down from above and into Alec's hair. Instinctively, Magnus reached out to remove it, crushing it in his fingers and letting the pieces fly away in the wind. "You'll hear it anyway. Especially with that hole in the wall."

Another silence. "Will you?"

The early shadows hid Alec's face. "Maybe."

 _A/N: Thanks for the comments! I hope you enjoy._


End file.
